


OQ Fixit Week One Shots

by audreyslove



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove
Summary: A series of prompts for #oqfixitweek





	1. Chapter 1

It strikes him at odd times, the pull he has towards her, the attraction, the desire, the gratefulness that she is _his._

 

It starts when they trade lazy kisses in the early morning.  Just loving, at first, but then she adds some firmness, a lick of passion and need to stoke the fire of his desire, and suddenly he is no longer content to just revel under the cozy, warm softness of the down comforter and hold the woman of his dreams, he has a need to have her, to taste every inch of her, drink her in, become joined with her, rock with her until she comes, to see and feel and touch her in a way she lets no one else.

 

He places a firm hand on her ass, grasps, digs nails into her skin and grabs at the cheek greedily, and she moans in response, arching into the touch. The scent of her shampoo and the powdered musky remnants of soap on her skin mix with the sweet, almost flowery scent of _her_ , and he plants a firm tongue into the side of her neck, breathing her in and sampling the salty, earthy taste of her skin. And that’s it, that’s the stuff, the sounds and smells, the tastes and feeling, the sight of the woman who doesn't hide from him, who shares herself completely with him, who has become a part of him on such a short time it really is unbelievable.

 

He wants her, so badly.  Wants to wrap himself around her and just bask in the beauty that is their love.  He wants to make love to her sweetly, and softly, to take all the time in the world with her, but this is time they do not have.

 

He’s aroused, breathing heavy, planting sucking kisses along her neck and shoulders, and then the baby monitor makes that tell-tale sound, recording the frantic, impatient screams of his needy newborn.

 

He wants to wait it out.  Maybe in a few minutes, she will settle, cry herself back to sleep, just another hour, just another hour for him to have his way with Regina.

 

But the baby is not compliant with his request, and Regina has never been one to neglect the needs of children, so it’s only three firm wails before Regina is pressing palms against his chest, separating them with a regretful smile.

 

“Later,” she promises, as she scrambles to her feet, throwing on a silk robe and tying it around her slender waist.

 

He has no right to the frustrated groan that comes out of him, and he is angry at himself the second he hears it.

 

Because, afterall, “You don’t have to get her, I can…”

 

But Regina just shakes her head with a smile. “I’ve got her.”  A pause, and then, “It’s a shame.  I want you so badly right now.”

 

And now the moan he gives is fitting, less like the sound of a petulant, surly teenager and more like the sound of a man in lust and love.  She smiles at that, tilts her head sympathetically and mouths “I love you”.

 

.::.

 

There’s something about seeing a woman with your child.

 

She’s never birthed a child, and she’s told him she never will.  She told him, quite frankly, that she will never give him a son or daughter, that she is not made to be a mother.  He had only kissed her hands, told her she already was a mother, and that he did not need her to birth a child.  They had all the children he could ever want in Henry and Roland, and, should the child in Zelena’s womb come to be, that would be a welcome addition as well.  He didn’t need anything from Regina except her love and trust and understanding.  He didn’t feel he quite deserved _acceptance,_ acceptance of his family, his _whole_ family, but she offered it without him ever needing to make the request.  And there’s something ungodly beautiful about that, about her strength, her love, her understanding.  

 

So he sees her, arms full of a child that is not hers, with nothing but love in her eyes, and it makes him love her even more. She smiles at him as she feeds his daughter, humming and caressing the baby as she hops from one foot to the other, lulling her into a peaceful existence.

 

This woman is his.  He belongs to her, and she has a piece of his heart he never wants back.

 

He loves her so.

 

.::.

 

It’s a long day.  The town needed more saving, it seemed, and Regina had insisted he stay and watch Roland and Ella as she helped Snow understand her visions - the signs of some posession by an evil demon that threatened to control her.  He hadn’t, though.  He had refused to leave her, and it was a familiar argument they had, one she was more easily letting him win.  So he’d left the child care in the capable hands of John to support Regina.  The spirit took Snow over, and the woman became erratic and frantic, magic pulsing and thumping across the town, destruction flowing from her fingers and settling amongst the buildings and trees.

 

A possessed Snow aims a bolt of magic at them, and he cannot help but jump in front of it.  Regina stops it, curses at him for risking his life over _her (_ an ongoing argument it seems), and he just sighs and lets her rant at him, shutting her up after a bit with a small peck on the lips.  She sighs, and kisses him again in return.

 

“Stupid man.” She mutters, a smile never leaving her face.

 

“Stubborn woman.” he returns, his voice full of affection.  They are in the middle of a battle, but perhaps because of their interrupted passion hours before, he cannot help but notice how beautiful she is, how sexy and graceful and powerful she is.

 

Regina has a plan, and she always does.  How it’s enacted requires a certain amount of coordination.  He watches her, in awe, as she delegates, and weaves an intricate solution with the tools and people available in town.  It takes David's strong heart, Emma’s light Magic, Ruby’s sense of smell, and Belle’s research, and a couple of potions in her vault to create the perfect cure, but it is done.  Regina nearly dies enacting her plan, because, as it is, her plans always have her in the crossfire, always putting herself the most at risk.

 

It infuriates him because it is terrifying to imagine a life without her.  He doesn't want to, not ever, but flashes of losing her hit him all the time, it's par for the course when you love a woman like Regina.

 

But she knows, she has learned to finally believe she is worth something to _him_ at least, and when the dust settles, she throws him a sympathetic look and murmurs an _I’m sorry_ she needn't speak.  

 

“Don't apologize to me,” he insists, “just stop treating yourself as expendable.”

 

She nods slightly, and he is allowed to hope that next time may be better, next time she may guard her life like she ought to.  

 

And then her fight continues, and truth be told, she's a bit more cautious now, a bit more self protective.

 

They are able to stun the possessed spirit, to freeze it, for only a moment, but that's all they need to get Snow to ingest the cure for her demon, as it is.

 

As he watches a shocked Snow eagerly drink a potion made by the woman who once tried so desperately to kill her, it hits him all at once how striking Regina is, how complex and powerful and loving she is, and she is _his._

 

She is _his_ in a torn, soiled, beautifully form-fitting dress that somehow still looks regal despite the damp bits of leaves that cling to it, with stiletto heels she insists on wearing despite an intense physical battle in the forest, ruby colored lips, jet black hair, hair that now sticks ever so slightly to her skin, her cheeks a bit rosier, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat from tax of the mental and physical feats of the day.

 

She isn’t his alone, he has to share her with her family, with everyone, (and he does, gladly) but sometimes, when he watches her care and protect others, strong and bold and unafraid, after he’s just almost lost her for the millionth time...well, those times he just wants her to himself.

 

So as they walk home from the woods, he changes the direction sharply, away from the town, towards the graveyard.

 

“Where are we going?” she asks, so innocently, and does she really not know?  

 

She gets the picture as soon as the destination is in sight, and he thinks he can hear her chuckle, but he’s a bit too worked up today to have a discussion on what is going to happen. The vault used to be her space, her sanctuary.  Regina used the vault to work through problems, to be comforted, to research, to feel safe.  It’s the least figurative wall that he’s broken through.  It’s still her place, but it’s also _their_ place, now, marked by their first night together, and he shares it as much as she will let him.

 

He just needs her now, alive, and in his arms, needs to feel her beating heart and taste the flesh around her pulse point.

 

So he leads her to the vault, shuts the door behind him before he carries her down the stairs, pushing her against the wall and kissing her hard.

 

“The children —-” she murmurs, though he won't have to argue much with her about this.  Her hands are already pulling and gripping him closer to her, quick shallow shaky breaths telling him she needs this as badly as he does.

 

“ —- Are In John's capable hands,” he finishes for her, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of her pulse point, “Now hush, I need _you_ in my hands.”

 

“Oh?” Her breathy reply might have meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out a bit desperate, a bit wanton.

 

“I’ve needed you all day,” he groans, as his hands make their way up her dress. “You were amazing just now,” Robin huffs as he finds the zipper and draws it down, “brilliant, and fearless, god awfully sexy, I can’t even tell you…”

 

She raises her eyebrows at that, and asks “Sexy?  While fighting demonic spirits?”

 

He crashes his lips into hers in response, and then he peels that delicious dress off her body in one sweeping, fluid motion.  She’s in black lace lingerie, those high heels still on, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more erotic.  “Definitely sexy,” he groans into her mouth.  “Love when you take control, and you’re all powerful, and confident, and _all mine.”_

 

“Yours?” she asks, and for a second he thinks this streak of possessiveness has him in in trouble.

 

“Mmhm,” he says, stroking her face tenderly.  She doesn’t look mad, more surprised.  “Everyone needs you, you are pulled in so many directions. Henry needs you, The Prince and Princess need you, Gold, Maleficent… even my children need you.  But then you almost get yourself killed and you looked at _me._ And I feel…” he shrugs, not quite able to put it into words.  “I am very honored to have a special part of you that I don’t have to share.”

 

The moods gone just a bit too soft, and he can tell by the way her head tilts, how those ruby lips curve into a lopsided smile, eyes closing and cheeks flushing red, she’s touched, truly touched by his words.

 

“I am being selfish,” he whispers in her ear, “I don’t want  to think about how I almost lost you again.  Because I’m not quite sure what I’d do.  So I want you all to myself right now, all in my arms, in my hands, want you wrapped all around me.  I want to have you right where I had you the first time, all to myself all night.”

 

“You do, do you?” she teases.  But he can tell that what he’s saying is working on her, he can tell, the way she swallows hard and then bites her lip, gives him that seductive look.

 

 _“_ I like that the same woman who cares for my children goes off to fight demons.  You’re so memorizing, everyone’s in awe of you, and I get to take you home.” He backs her into the solid stone wall (her back is bare, and she gasps at the contact with the hard wall) and adds, “wanted you since this morning, so badly, and all of this just made it so much _more.”_

 

She makes this soft little sigh he will probably replay in his mind for years to come, it’s so god damned sensual, laced with want, with _need._ She’s the one who grabs the lapel of his jacket and pulls him towards her, like she did for their first kiss.  There’s a moment of nostalgia over how many obstacles have been in their way since that moment, over how much their love has been able to overcome.

 

They beat everything standing in their way, and now he gets to see her, and touch her, and fuck her whenever she is willing.

 

He dives into her neck, plants sucking kisses, feeling lucky as hell that she responds to him the way she does, how she leans into his touch, moves her hands down to the waist of his jeans.  Her hand cups where he is already hard for her and she moans, this throaty thing that comes from deep inside her, and _fuck,_ she’s irresistible.

 

_.::._

 

She loves him.  

 

Sometimes so much it makes her dizzy with pure happiness.  Their story is far from a perfect fairy tale. She didn’t take her first chance with him, and they both went on a path to darkness.  They both destroyed the lives of the innocent, both suffered unspeakable pain and loneliness… but they both also both have a son, and they’ve made something beautiful out of their broken pasts, of their struggles and failings.

 

And she loves it, loves the children that have quickly gone from _mine_ and _yours_ to _ours,_

 

“You need this too, don’t you?” He asks in that deep throaty whisper that has her clenching her thighs together.

 

She does, she did, this morning, and there had been an edge of that need all day that resurfaced as soon as he told her exactly how much she means to him.

 

She nods and hisses out a _yesss_ that turns into a gasp when she feels his fingers pressing over the damp lace of her underwear, touching over where she’s sensitive, swollen.

 

She leans back against the cold wall of the vault, stretching her neck to give him better access as he kisses a line down from her jaw to her breasts.  Each sucking little kiss, each swipe of his tongue feels like _home_ , the movements so familiar but still so tantalizing.

 

Her nipples are hard, and throbbing by the time he takes them in his mouth, one and then the other sucking right through the lace of her bra.  

 

He knows she loves this, loves the way spit-dampened fabric slides against tingling skin, the teasing touch of having him _almost_ but _not quite_ on her…

 

He’s rubbing at her clit firmly now, also through the lingerie, and the combination of him touching her like this is getting her so close, so fast.

 

“Robin…” she groans, pressing her hands down on his shoulders.  He knows what that means too, and she feels him chuckling warmly into her breast.  

 

He unhooks her bra before sinking to his knees (more for him than or her, she knows he likes to look up at her when she’s bare, not a scrap covering any part of her skin), little wispy kisses around her belly button.

 

She squirms and laughs despite herself, can’t help it, the touch is too light, too ticklish.  

 

“Mm, something funny?” he asks, teasingly before drawing under the bit of lace keeping his mouth from her sex.

 

He knows why she laughed, knows how the great and terrible queen is actually incredibly sensitive, but she answers anyway with the shake of her head, weaving fingers through his hair as pushes him into her skin.  

 

“Nothing funny in the slightest,” she breathes. “now touch me, please.”

 

He thumbs at her clit, two firm, deliberate strokes, feeling how wet she is, how swollen and hard the little nub of her clit is, but then he leaves her, swipes fingers between her folds and licks his lips.

 

“So wet,” he praises.  “already, love?”

 

She bites her lip and rolls her eyes to the back to her head.  “You know _exactly_ how I get when you talk like this.”

 

“Mm, I do,” he’s grinning ear to ear and adds, “I love how I can make you like this.”

 

He’s proud, she knows, proud he can work her up to this.  And he deserves to be proud.  No one else could ever work her up so fast.

 

“I love that I have all of this,” he swipes a tongue from the top of her sex allll the way down, near to where it’s… almost impolite.  But she doesn’t mind in the slightest, because it feels amazing.  Has her lifting a leg over his shoulder to give him more access.

 

“My favorite meal,” he murmurs, before his tongue finds his way inside her, flicking in and out.  His fingers rub little firm circles over her clit, and god. this is good, _really_ good….

 

She rocks into him, mimicking the thrusting patterns of his tongue.  It feels so damn _good,_ just letting loose, being as greet with his mouth as she wants to be.

 

He pulls his tongue out when she is teetering on the edge, and his tongue and fingers trade places, his tongue laving over her clit in strong laps, fingers entering her with ease.

 

She’s going to come like this, oh god is she ever, the way he’s — fuck, eating at her like there’s no tomorrow, but she’s been on these heels all day, and suddenly she wants the bliss of an orgasm to be unfettered from the dull ache in the arches of her feet.

 

“Robin — _oh! fuck like that,_ — can we… _mm!_ finish this in bed?”

 

He looks up at her, all sweet and curious.  “This seemed to be working quite nicely,” he stated plainly, licking her up and down again.

 

“It is,” she admits, her voice shaking, “but i’ve battled a demon all day and I think I’d like to have an orgasm without having to balance on spikes heels.”

 

He chuckles at that, plants a wet, sucking kiss to her sex, then slides her leg off his shoulder and lifts her into his arms as he rises to his feet.  

 

She wraps her legs around his waist right, unable to resist grinning when she feels him hard and straining in his jeans. She hasn’t so much as touched him, but he’s just excited at pleasing her.

 

He throws her down on the bed and eats at her eagerly, his tongue moving in every pleasing pattern he’s perfected over their time together, and it’s a matter of minutes before she’s arching and gasping his name, fingers combing through her hair.

 

When she looks down at him, his head bobbing between her thighs, ears red from working hard, no doubt, little slurping sounds that have her belly clenching and her thighs tensing already, it’s sensory overload.

 

“Mm, you look so good like this,”  she says, scratching fingernails through his scalp.

 

She feels hot breaths of air hitting right on her oversensitive clit, and it nearly takes her over the edge.  He doesn’t stop, just looks up at her from his _meal_ and shoots her that coy little look and gives her those strong taps of his tongue right over his clit that have her edging ever closer…

 

She thrashes her hips into him, arches her hips into each press, letting out a moan so deep and pornographic it has her blushing.

 

“Robin, I’m…”

 

It’s all she has to say before he’s sucking at her, a deep, strong suck that leaves her breathless, has her diving headfirst into bliss.  She pulls at his hair hard enough to make him moan, and that throaty noise vibrates against her clit in a way that depends the orgasm, has her screaming (god she _loves_ fucking in her fault, she can _scream,_ as loud as she wants), and then those family at little pulses of pleasure come, the relief of finally letting go of all that pent up pressure that’s built up over the last twelve hours, god, so good, _sodamngood_ , oh god!

 

.::.

 

He doesn’t stop, keeps licking and touching her as she rides out the orgasm, as her thighs tremble against his ears, her belly spasming in that way(he has a hand on her lower abdomen, so he can feel them, he loves that feeling those little orgasmic muscle reflexes he draws out of her).

 

He waits until she stops tugging at his hair and gives a little tap, a little squirm, til he knows he can’t continue licking her clit directly, and then he shifts, skirts around the edge of her, thrusting his tongue inside her just for himself, just because she is hers, and he gets to taste he and feel her and do with her what she lets him.

 

He loves his about her

 

“Fuck me,” she says, that voice still shaky, tremors still drawing out from her afterglow.

 

She’s dewy with sweat, despite the cool evening, and it’s because of _him,_ he had her temperature rising, had her body going how and flushed, not for anyone else but for _him._

 

He’s still completely clothed and she’s noticed, fingernails scratching underneath his shirt with a bit of frustration.  “I want you naked,” she growls.  

 

He makes quick work of his clothes, standing up to peel off his shirt and step out of his jeans.

 

And she watches laying down and let’s out this sigh, looks at him as he strips, as if to say that she likes what she sees.  

 

He _loves_ that.  He situates himself between her legs again, this time completely bare of any clothing, gods she’s lovely, so lovely.

 

He skins over her sex, over the swollen wetness, and smiles proudly.

 

He may have to share her with the world, most of her anyway, but _this_ is between them and them alone

 

“This is for me,” he says stroking her fondly, surprised at how feral his voice sounds, and for a second he worries it is too much.

 

But she’s nodding, arching herself against him.

 

“Only for you.” She agrees, “please Robin…”

 

He grabs at himself (gods he’s hard, and starved for contact) and lines up with her wet center.  

 

“Tell me what you want,” he urges.  He knows, but he loves when she talks, when she asks or demands things of him in the bedroom.

 

He sees her lips curve into a knowing grin for a second, but she’s far gone, wants to badly, and she presses her head hard into the pillow when she says, “I want you, Robin, I want you to make me come on your cock, want you inside…”

 

He slides in then, and it’s heaven.  She’s so warm and tight and wet, fuck, she soaked, and no one else gets to feel the pleasure of her like this, not anymore.

 

He starts slow and deliberate, his body over hers, thrusts deep and steady.

 

He feels her legs parting more for him, her hips rocking to meet his.

 

She bites her lip hard and sucks a breath in, and that’s out of habit, a custom during their lovemaking at home, when she needs to be quiet.

 

“Don’t keep it in, love.” He begs, picking up the pace a bit, “Want to hear you, hear everything.  No one will — mm! — no one will hear but me.”

 

He mouth falls open hen, and her sighs and moans become louder.

 

She cups the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, tender but _passionate._

 

 _“Harder_ please, Robin!” Her voice sounds like a dream, lust-filled and throaty, has him obeying immediately.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into her neck before he kisses there.  “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, _fuck!_ had to wait so long after we met, hated waiting, gods you were so perfect and you teased me so much with those outfits, _oh gods_!”

Their trip down memory lane is affecting her, he sees the way her eyes shut tight, those curse words that spill out as her body tenses.  

 

“Now you’re mine and it’s better than I imagine, every time,” he assures.

 

“Me too,” she pants.  Her leg bends, knee up by his side, and he takes the cue, cups it and lifts it over his shoulder.

 

“Oh, _yesss!!!”_ she cries, the angle shifts into something he can tell is working, has her pulsing around him already.  It’s driving him closer, has him biting his lip to control himself, to keep from coming.

 

“Fuck, you are  perfect,” he groans.

 

“You are,” she breathes, “It’s so good, you’re _so good_ , _oh!  Robin!”_

 

 _“_ Love when you say my name,” he groans, closer now, and she is too, he can feel those little twitch tremors coming.

 

She loops an a around his wrist and shoves it between them.  And he understands, shifts back to touch her clit as he fucks her at full speed.

 

“ _Robin!”_ she screams gods his name again and has his belly tensing, desire churning inside him, makes his balls ache with need, “Fuck, I’m—!”

 

“Come for me love,” he pants, “so gorgeous, I can feel it, you’re right there, come for me…”

 

“Oh god Robin! I love you,” she rasps, “so, so much.”

 

“I love you too, gods, you’ll never know, fuck l, so much.”

 

She arches her back high as the heavens, arms clenched little fists as her release takes her, squeezing tight around his cock in arrhythmic movements.  Those little spasms get to him, pull him under with her, and he’s spilling into her with a shout of her name.

 

He rides it out, until he’s nearly soft, until he can no longer feel those aftershocks of pleasure.  He lays next to her, cuddles her in his arms feeling lucky as all hell.

 

.::.

 

“Thank you for giving me all this,” he whispers, as their both come down from their high.

 

She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  She’s still breathy, still recovering from orgasm, when she asks, “Giving you what? Your life hasn’t been all unicorns and rainbows with me.  Quite the opposite.”

 

Because of her he’s been tortured with the memory of his dead wife, his son has had to take a memory potion that erased months of their time together, he’s suffered the confusion of new realms, he’s been raped, and almost died countless times.

 

It’s not been a picnic.

 

“I disagree,” he assures, kissing her lips sweetly.  “I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything.  I’d go through it all again, I’d suffer much worse all over again, for _this.”_

 

“Truly?” she asks, even though hence talked of this before, “everything with Zelena—“

 

“Gave me Ella,” he finishes, “so I can’t really wish it didn’t happen, can I?  It means the world to me that you accepted her, didn’t shun her.  That you supported me and helped me raise her.  You _love_ her and care for her and there’s something so… _irresistible_ about you when you parent our children.  We got through it, love.  We made out in the end.  I see the way you love her and it takes my breath away.”

 

“I do,” she admits, her eyes misty.  

 

Regina smiles thinking of their daughter — loves how he always calls her that.   _Our_ daughter.  Because she doesn’t care about the biology of it all.  Ella was never Zelena’s, and that was so obvious from the second she entered the world that even Zelena recognized it.  She blamed Regina at first, claimed she must have enchanted Ella or cursed her, taking away the connection that a mother and daughter _should_ have, but Zelena is well-versed in magic, and she knew no spell had been cast. She’s in the psych ward now, and therapy is has helped her admit as much.  That, and the fact she isn’t ready to be a mother.

 

And that’s fine.  Ella is all the better for it, she doesn’t suffer from a lack of parents. She has two capable ones who would do anything for her.  

 

She hesitates for just a moment, and then snuggles into him, resting her head on his chest.  “I love both your children, Robin.  As if they are my own.”

 

Because Roland, well, he might not call him _our son_ yet, but he should know that he feels like hers.

 

Robin weaves fingers through her hair, tucking a curling strand behind her ear.  “They are, they are just as yours as mine.  Roland and Ella both.  I am happier than I’ve ever been.  Just knowing you belong to me — to us —  means the world.”

 

Her vision goes blurry, and she has to blink away the tears, smile through her emotions, otherwise she’d be sobbing in his arms over how damn _grateful_ she feels to have him say this.  It alleviates so much guilt she’s harbored.

 

“So…” he draws out.  “Stop putting your life on the line.  I need you and the children need you.  Please, Regina.  You’re everything to me, to all of us.”

 

“I’m trying,” she whispers, her voice shaky, “I really am.”

 

“I know,” he assures, giving her a quick peck, “I don’t blame you.  I just l love you so much, and you matter so much to us, you’re anything but expendable.  You’re quite precious to me.  Try to defend your own life as much as I would defend it.”

 

She snorts, but snuggles into him, let’s him wrap his arms right around her as they spoon.

 

“I’ll try,” she repeats.  And she means it.  Sincerely this time.  

 

He’s given her a family, a sense of belonging, unconditional love and respect.  The least she can do is so appreciation for the life she has.

 

It won’t be an easy road, won’t be, self sacrifice is ingrained in her, but she will try, for him.


	2. Between the lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 4x08, Regina and Robin do some after hours research

She had meant what she said.  This could  _ not  _ happen a second time.

 

She mean what she said, she’s sure of that, but she’s also fairly certain that it  _ is  _ happening again.

 

Despite her best efforts to be good.  Despite her desire to be respectful of his ridiculous resuscitated zombie of a marriage, her lips are pulled to his skin like a magnet, and he’s all over her, kissing sucking and biting at her as if he were dying of hunger and she’s the only meal on the planet.  

 

He’s already gotten her jacket off (she at one point removed his vest , though she can’t remember when), and that’s far more clothes than  _ should  _ be coming off, as much as she wants a repeat of the last few hours, she  _ can’t. _

 

He makes her so…. _ god how did he learn to move his tongue like that?  _ He makes her so  _ distracted,  _ she can hardly remember her own name, the way his hands grope at her, not in an unpleasant way — not at all, in a passionate way, they follow her cues, take what she gives, and he palms the swells of her ass, kneading more aggressively as she rocks into the touch.

 

“Regina…” he  _ has  _ to say her name like that, all breathless and wanting, all sexy and throaty,  Her toes curl, she hears herself let out a little  _ mmm  _ against his mouth as she deepens the kiss yet again, tugs at his hair and hooks her leg behind his.

 

The bookcase jostles behind her as she pushes him closer into her.

 

God, what mother would think?

 

Throwing herself at a married man.  A married  _ thief. _

 

And it’s not just sex, it’s not meaningless, not just something she is doing because she’s bored and horny.  It has everything to do with  _ him.   _ She  _ likes  _ him.  And he  _ knows  _ that.  And mother would hate that even more, wouldn’t she?  She’d hate the fact that Regina practically pounced on him out of gratitude and appreciation, and he’ll, yes, out of  _ love,  _ after seeing him spend his days trying to work out how she could get her happy ending.

 

He feels things for her too.

 

A man wouldn’t act the way he does if he just wanted to get between her legs.

 

So maybe she’s a home wrecker, maybe it’s god awfully wrong to be pressed up between old books and a married man, but at this moment she’s too fucking gone to worry about the feelings of reborn wives.  And she needs him far too much to worry about the fact that despite having a rather resilient heart, she’s fragile and vulnerable when it comes to love.  It cuts at her deeply, wounds and scars when it leaves her.  She tries to avoid  _ this,  _ altogether, to keep the pain and emptiness of losing it away, but since Henry has been in her life, love is just a part of her life.  She can’t hide from it, not entirely.

 

“God, Regina…” Robin groans before diving into her neck, kissing the expanse of her neck.  She offers it to him, unable to resist, moaning as she slides a hand into his back pocket, giving his ass an indulgent squeeze.

 

He reacts immediately, thrusts into her (he’s  _ hard,  _ and this damn skirt is getting in the way of where she wants him, damnit).  Then his hands palm at HER ass, and he feels her reading her mind, drifting to the hem of her skirt, tugging lightly before whispering  _ is this okay?  _ into her kiss-dampened skin.

 

Instinct and desire takes over good sense, and she hums and nods immediately before remembering the reasons it is  _ not  _ okay.

 

“Wait!” she urges (her voice is deep and throaty and laced with lust, god she needs to cool off).  “We— we can’t.  This wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

 

He smiles at her sadly, but gives her space (he’s rather considerate of that — of  _ space,  _ he reads her cues and backs off when she asks, crashes into her when she needs him.

 

“We  _ can,”  _ he corrects, “and I know this wasn’t supposed to happen again, but I just… I can’t resist you and frankly I don’t  _ want  _ to resist you.”

 

She is weak, and starved for contact, and too damn happy to have a loving man in her arms, because she is kissing him again.  “But…” she pulls away, “this isn’t right.”

 

“Regina if you don’t want to do this—“

 

“Of course I  _ want _ to!” she snaps back, “I want to fuck you here, against this shelf and on that table, at your camp and in my own bed… but sometimes I want things that are  _ wrong.” _

 

Her little rant has worked him all up, has him taking a sharp breath in, ears bright red and eyes dark, but he doesn’t move closer, he waits for her like he always does.

 

“Robin I really, really want oh.  But you’re married.  And it’s black and white — we can’t be together.”

 

“It’s not that black and white,” he insists.  “For starters, my wife came back from the grave.  I’m not sure what the rules on that is or even if we are still wed _.” _

 

_ “ _ That’s a technicality,” Regina sighs, “and trust me I  _ really  _ want to get out of this on a technicality, but…” she shakes her head, looks down at their now-joined hands and sighs.

 

Shen she looks back up at him he just looks so damn  _ handsome  _ that it punches her in the gut.  She bites down hard on her bottom lip and shakes her head.  “Ugh, can you stop looking at me like that?”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently, his hands still holding hers.

 

“I mean you look damn good to turn down right now,” she says, feeling her cheeks heat terribly as she shields her eyes from him. 

 

He chuckles, but doesn’t let up, cupping her chin and urging her to look up.  “I am completely enamored with you.  You know that, don’t you?”

 

There’s a lump in her throat that try as she might she just can’t swallow back down her throat.  the back of her eyes sting, and  _ no  _ she will not be crying.  And she won’t be caving.  She’s better than this.

 

“Still, I can't just be your…” she takes a big breath, “your mistress,” and when he looks like he’s about to shun the word she adamantly continues “and that’s what I am!  I’m going to be the woman you go with to cheat on your  _ wife _

 

“It’s not that simple,” he argues.

 

“It is!” she says, and here are tears now, falling down her heated cheeks, god this is humiliating.  she looks down, shameful of the salty wetness coating her face.

 

“It’s not that simple.  Because I’m in love with you, Regina.”

 

Those words.  She knows.  He’s alluded to it before but somehow directly  _ saying  _ it makes everything real.  And she’s so damn happy, because someone loves her and as fucked as the situation is, it’s just nice to have a reminder that the world doesn’t see her as rotten as she used to be. 

 

“I’m sorry if it hurts, but…” he says gently, “It’s the truth, I can’t just not say it.” For a few moments the are both silent and then he curses and puffs out a breath of air.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, love, I—” but then she looks back up at him with a smile.

 

“It hurts, all of this hurts,” she confirmed.  “But being loved… it means a lot to me.  I didn’t think I could have  _ this _ , at all.  So it’s torture but…” she shrugs, “it’s also wonderful.”

 

He kisses her again then, all passionate and needy, and she takes back what he is giving, even ducks up her own skirt to gray him access to where he’s now been avoiding.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, but his tone of voice doesn’t sound nearly as uncertain as the question connotes.

 

Because he knows.  He knows how much she wants him.

 

“I’m sure,” she breathes into his neck, before planting a form such at his pulse point.

 

It’s still wrong but it’s not as wrong as she might have thought before, it’s not as wrong now, not now that they are the same.

 

“Do you feel the same?” he rasps.

 

She doesn’t answer in words, right away, but in action.  She answers as she strips herself bare for him, as she takes him in her hands and her mouth, and then buries his cock inside her.

 

She answers as she cries out for him, as she answers each thrust of his hips with gasps and moans, and  _ oh Robin, please, oh! _

 

But the definite answer spills from her lips right when she reaches her peak, as sparks of electricity pulse and flow through her, making her head light and zapping air out of her breath.  

 

“I love you,  _ oh god, Robin _ !  I do, I love you so much.”

 

She watches his face as everything intended, as his face curves into a smile, then he kisses her and tells her again that he loves her.

 

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,” he whispers as he spill in her, nibbling and kissing at her earlobe.

 

After they are finished, she poofs them back to her bedroom, where they can have another good  _ sleep. _

 

This shouldn’t have happened and it certainly should not happen again (it will, they are both ravenous for one another).  But it’s not time for morals, it’s not time for planning the future or worrying about undead wives and rules on adultery when time travel becomes reality. 

 

Now is just a time to indulge in the moment, to delude herself on what could have been.  To silently, secretly hope for a happy ending to a story that cannot have one.

 

Reality will hit tomorrow.

 

Tonight he is warm, and solid, and beautiful.

 

And they are both alive.


	3. Lucky Charm

She hates St. Patrick’s Day.

 

She hates it every year, as every good bar owner should.  The customers are loud and drunk, puking up green beer and peeing in the alleys, over her toilet seats.  They get into fights, are entirely incoherent, and what’s worse is she suffers all of this while only being a quick stop on the crowds wandering from the Irish bar three blocks south to the Irish bar five blocks north.  Just a go between.

 

Roni’s is a dive bar, and decidedly _not_ Irish.  She fucking hates Irish bars, with their lame manufactured throwbacks to the Old Country, the same five overrated beers on tap, the Irish flags and boston accents that always seem to flow through those bars… god damned bagpipes on recording… ugh.  Her bar will never serve green beer and shitty music, will never acknowledge that damned holiday.

 

So on St. Patrick’s Day people come in and warm up, have a drink or two on special, and then they teeter off into the night, in search of another bar with an _O’_ in front of its name.

 

Every other year, suffering through this day is an inconvenience, and that’s all.  Her bar does well on average nights, well enough, that losing the regulars stings but does not bite too hard.  They are always back to her the day after St. Patrick’s day, nursing a hangover with her Bloody Mary’s and promising her that they will never participate in another St. Patrick’s day… until the next year rolls around and they fall for the same girls in tight green clothes and watered down drink specials.  

 

This year, however, is especially awful, and it is all because of Mac.

 

Ten months ago the idiot moved in the little row house next to hers, with sparkling blue eyes and a flirtatious smile that instantly grabbed her attention when she saw him for the first time, walking to his mailbox just as she has reached her own.

 

And oh, how he came on to her.  Not with lame lines or false flattery, but with his quick wit and dry sense of humor.  Of course he used those deep blue eyes and that dimpled smile to soften her up, throw her off her guard, til she was a gooey mess on the inside.

 

He was just telling her how fortunate he was to have such a _beautiful view,_ the implication obvious when he looked her up and down (Roni had to roll her eyes, she does, but her insides heat at the way he stares at her) … when _she_ came over.

 

That bitch… this raven haired blue eyed cunt, just sidled up behind him, hugged him from behind, and he gave Roni that _hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar_ look.

 

“McAllister, come back to _beddd,_ ” she had whined.

 

For fucks sake he had just moved in last _week,_ from New York City.  And he moved in _alone,_ as far as she can remember.

 

And he was excusing himself, looking truly apologetic as he left.

 

Roni hates him for making her for fall for him for even a moment.  For thinking for even a few seconds that she didn’t have to be perpetually single.

 

But he’s just a player, looking for a new one night stand, too idiotic to not realize you _never_ shit where you eat.  

 

Roni hates that even for a second she fell for another assholes lines.  Even if he doesn’t know she had taken the bait, _she_ knows.

 

And it eats at her.

 

It was just her fucking luck when she discovered he was renting the place two doors down the street.

 

Years ago a little all-night diner went out of business, and that lot had remained blissfully vacant ever since.  But this man swoops in, and what does he do?

 

He turns the space into a god damned bar.  Not just any bar, mind you.

 

A god damned Irish Bar.

 

The Green Man is a _rowdy_ bar, and tends to attract graduate students and more wealthy businessmen looking to reclaim their youth.  That’s not exactly Roni’s clientele.  She’s a server to the hard working, blue collar heroes of this neighborhood.  So normally they don’t compete too much, the Green Man and Roni’s.

 

Except lately.  Starting the first weekend in March when he rolled out with these…  ridiculous drink specials that go through St. Patrick’s Day.  The week of St. Patrick’s day things get even _more ridiculous._ He gets the permit to put up this tent out back (eats away at most of his parking lot space, the imbecile), and a narrow covered tent in front.  The fucking noise of bagpipes and woo girls and stink from those frat boys, businessmen and his shitty lager carries into her bar.

 

And what really eats her up inside is she has a small parking lot, just two dozen or so cars.  The sign _clearly_ says FOR CUSTOMERS OF RONI’S BAR AND GRILL ONLY, but you wouldn’t know it, because it’s packed to the brim today with cars - some of which she recognizes whose owners are _definitely_ not at her bar.  And there’s the people scurrying from her parking lot to that blasted bar.  

 

She’s only a handful of customers, so she asks Alice, the part-time server/bartender, to handle things for a bit while she deals with this situation.

 

She’s about to stop one of the fast moving freeloaders to tell them to move their car out of her lot before a tow truck moves it _for_ them, when she catches something far more infuriating.  An employee of the Green Man, wearing one of those ridiculous bright green polo shirts, is leaning over a car, saying something…

 

And then the son of a bitch points to _her_ parking lot, and she just about _loses_ it.

 

She stalks towards the bar, towards its infuriating sign with the god damned arrow piercing through an apple (what the fuck _is_ that, anyway?).  She’s flushed either from the wind of the cool night air or the anger burning inside her... or both, really.

 

It’s already asses-to-elbows under the patio tent (for fucks sake it’s 8 PM, these morons won’t make it til midnight at this rate), she has to shove by plenty of idiots before she gets inside, where it’s less crowded, more typical for an early night in a bar.

 

And then she sees him, laughing and drinking with his customers, like he hasn’t a care in the world.

 

“MCALLISTER.” Her voice is raised and snarling, breath already heavy from the adrenaline coursing through her.

 

“Shit, she full-named ya,” Leon says from his stool.  And _fuck_ Leon, he’s gonna be back at her bar tomorrow with a sheepish smile and some crumpled bills, fuck him for thinking he has the right to say a word to her.

 

“Roni!  Nice of you to join us!” Mac calls out, ignoring the hostility in your voice.  “Hope they didn’t charge you the cover, I—”

 

“Please your doorman knows better than to even try with me,” she waves off.  “Your _customers,_ however, seem to be under the impression that since you’ve eaten up half _your_ parking lot with some tacky tent, my lot is up for free parking.”

 

He smiles, takes a sip of beer and shrugs.  That poster behind him of that crown is angled as such that it almost loos like an ironically placed halo.  “Oops?  Sorry bout that, I can’t really control this crowd—“

 

“Oh bullshit. I caught your server _directing_ people to my lot,” she huffs, wagging a finger accusatorily, and he winces, knowing he’s been caught. “Those idiots aren’t going to be happy when their cars are towed.”

 

She glares at Rogers, who’s cowering on the end of the bar, a hand up over his face.

 

“Of course, towing a _police car_ might be interesting, officer.  What would they say down at the station?”

 

“Oh come on, love, it’s not like you have any customers of your own tonight,” he defends.

 

And then the crowd _laughs,_ laughs at her misfortune, laughs at the fact this new bar and this smug bartender have bested her, and she is going to fucking kill every single one of them and burn this bar to the ground.

 

“Remember that you said that next week when you ask me to put more drinks on your tab,” she warns Rogers, “because frankly right now there’s one customer I wish I _didn’t_ have.”

 

“And what are you going to do about it?” Rogers asks, “Because from where I’m sitting you’re desperate for _anyone—“_

 

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” Mac says, walking towards her with a pint in hand.  “Stay a bit, have some drinks on the house. I’m sorry about the parking problem. I’m going to talk to Danny and tell him not to direct anymore people to your lot.  Maybe direct them to the dance studio lot… they are closed right?”

 

“Victoria owns the place,” Roni warns, “they’ll be towed right away.”

 

“Ya need a ticket before you can tow,” Rogers reminds, sipping his beer.  “I feel we may not be up for ticketing tonight. Ticketing _anyonex_.”

 

Well, good to know justice is working on whiskey tonight and her customers will be searching for on street parking.

 

But Victoria will get everyone towed.  Rogers may stand up to Victoria but plenty of other cops will cower.  

 

“Victoria won’t notice.  Went up to Vancouver for the weekend,” Weaver speaks up, “she won’t be a problem.  And I just so happen to have a key that unlocks that chain she has put around the entrance to the lot after hours.”

 

He winks at her, finishes the rest of his pint, and walks towards the exit, calling out, “just remember, you two owe me a favor.”

 

Roni rolls her eyes, as she watches him leave.

 

When she turns back Mac, he’s dangling that pint in her face, apologetic smile bringing out those dimples, and it’s _unfair._

 

“I believe I owe you a drink,” he says, “for your troubles at least?”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“I don’t drink that swill,” she mutters, and then when he protests that Smithwick is _not_ swill, she adds, “or any beer, for that matter.”

 

“Ah,” he says, “whiskey girl, I remember.  You have _quite_ the extensive knowledge.”

 

She rolls her eyes.  Yes she did show him that she has  _quite_ the extensive knowledge when they both showed up at the same liquor vendors and fought over that bottle of Glenlivet.  

 

Mac, the bastard, won that battle.

 

“And how do you feel about bourbon?” he asks.

 

She scoffs.  “The way anyone with taste feels about bourbon; it’s delicious,” she says, “and I’ve got plenty of it at _my_ bar.  So if you’ll just get your customers out of my parking lot, I’ll be on my way.”

 

“Mm, you do have some nice bourbon,” he drawls, “but you don’t have _this.”_ He nods over in the direction of his bar, and reaches a hand out toward her.

 

“Come on, you’re curious, I know you are.” And then he winks at her and heads towards his office.

 

“Don’t you have a bar full of customers to attend to?” she asks, but she’s following him can’t seem to resist doing so...

 

“I do. They are in the capable hands of my hardworking employees,” he assures, holding open the door for her.

 

When the door shuts, it’s nearly blissfully quiet, the infernal Irish music muffled behind hard oak.

 

There’s more to like about this place besides the silence.  It’s… rather tasteful.  There’s a burgundy leather couch and a cherry wood coffee table  arranged in front of a large desk.  

 

She likes this office.  It’s comfortable, yet professional.

She sits down on the couch and raises an eyebrow.  “So was this just a ploy to get me into your office, or do you actually have something interesting for me to try?” She asks, watching him swallow heavy at her words, knowing there’s an innuendo somewhere he’s picked up on.

 

“I have a _lot_ of things I’d like for you to try,” he gives her back, “but this whiskey is particularly nice.”

 

It’s a bottle of George T Stagg, rare, but no Pappy Van Winkle, but a good bourbon nonetheless. He pours a small glass into a chilled snifter and hands it to her.

 

“It’s a good batch.  Almost as rich and complicated as the woman that drinks from it,” he smirks.

 

“If only your lines went down as smoothly as this bourbon,” Roni says wryly.  She’d put the snifter down and leave now, but it is _quite_ good bourbon and she’s not going to miss out on savoring it just because the man in front of her is being an ass.

 

He sighs and takes a seat on the leather armchair situation next to the sofa.  “Roni, why do you hate me?  We seemed to be getting off to such a good start.”

 

She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of whiskey, let’s the smokey, strong liquid roll on her tongue, igniting all her tastebuds before she swallows, enjoying the way it burns her throat.

 

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are, you know.” she drawls.

 

“We’ve establishes that,” Mac agrees playfully.  “What about me has you disliking me so much?”

 

“Men like you annoy me,” she says, handing her glass towards Mac as he gives her a second pour.  He seems entirely unbothered by her words, and _that_ annoys her further.  “You think you are god’s gift to women.  I watch you flirt with women to get a lower sale price on liquor, an extra few days on rent, for fucks sake to cut in line at the post office.  And I get it, you’ve got a few nice lines and you’re just good looking enough to be alluring to some.  But I’m not one of the bimbos you fly through, Mac.  I’m a bit more complicated than that, and you… I just find you boring.”

 

“You think I’m good looking?” he asks

 

She snorts.

 

“ _That_ is what you get out of all of that?  God this is exactly why I don’t like you.  You’re so damn full of yourself it’s insufferable, you try your lines on the whole town, have probably slept your way through—“

 

“I’ve slept with one woman since I came to town.  Horrible mistake.” Mac says, offering her another pour.  She’s stunned into silence (doesn’t quite believe it), so just nods. “Do you know why I moved to town?”

 

Roni shrugs.  “You’ve never shared that with me, no.  But spare me the sob story, I’m not going to buy it.”

 

He stands up and lifts a picture frame that she hadn’t noticed was on the bookshelf.

 

A younger version of him, smiling at a lovely bride, a joyful crowd in the background.

 

“Ten years we were married.  And then one day she just left.  Ran off with my best friend.  Gave me lovely Dear John letter, turns out she loved me too much to say goodbye, if you could believe it.”

 

He speaks with a sincerity she’s not used to hearing in his voice.  This could all be some lie, some line to make her feel things for him, but if it’s a lie it’s certainly a well-crafted one.  

 

“After something like that… everyone pities you.  And I had to walk around my small town like a shamed man.  With every woman and man asking me…”

 

He screws his face, tilts his head and does a quick little impression “’How ya holding up?  Is there anything I can do?’ It’s… pathetic, really.  So I sold my house, cashed out a large chunk of my 401k and started over.  New town, new identity.  People don’t feel sorry for me here.  I can pretend to be someone who isn’t an emotional train wreck.” He shrugs, stands up and rubs his hand through his hair. He looks… awkward and uncomfortable.  He begins pacing, and it’s such a different side than she normally sees him. “Now _that_ night, the woman you saw, Andrea… that wasn’t about moving on, or being healthy.  That was my best mate’s girl.  Or ex-girl, and ex-mare, seeing as he took off with my wife.”

 

He chuckles darkly.  “Maria always said that Andrea had a crush on me.  I found her annoying, but I was also angry, and some part of me thought if we just did it… it would be some sort of revenge.  So she came to help me move in, it happened.”

 

He downs the rest of his glass and pours again (god they are going to be finished with half the bottle at this point).  

 

“Didn’t work.  Just made me feel more like shit because i brought her into it. I woke up rather melancholy and full of regret.  And then I met you, and… well trust me I _really_ regretted things after that. So that’s my story.  I’m not some charming, confident ass, I’m a wounded, heartbroken ass.  What about you?”

 

She laughs, shaking her head, and then apologizes.  “I’m sorry.  I had no idea.”

 

“Of course not,” Mac says, “And it’s not your fault.  But I’m done sharing for now.  And I don’t need your pity, I’ve got a whole town of pity I left on that.  I just wanted you to understand.  So, what about you then?  What’s your story?”

 

She shrugs.  “What makes you think I have a story?”

 

“Everyone has a story.  And I doubt a woman as beautiful as you could have been alone for long,” he says with a shrug.

 

“I don’t really date,” Roni gives, taking another delightful sip of bourbon.  “You kind of stop trying after life keeps kicking you in the teeth, you know?”

 

He nods carefully, doesn’t say a word, as if he’s frightened to scare her off.  But his approach works, has her comfortable telling more of her story.

 

She goes for blunt and immediate, gets to the point in just one swoop. “Mine didn’t leave me.  He died.”  

 

“Jesus I’m sorry,” Mac breathes, “truly, I didn’t mean to—”

 

“And the one before him died too,” Roni admits, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to make a fast exit.  She’s a bit of a black widow, isn’t she?  “Loved two people in my life.  They both died.  So now I love my bar.  It’s my home, it’s my pride, my hard work, blood, sweat and tears, and most importantly, it can’t die on me.”

 

He chuckles at that, and she _likes_ that, likes that he can still see the humor in things, that he’s not rushing to make her feel better or assure her she can love again.  

 

“Men are boring anyway,” she says flippantly, “I really don’t have time for the bullshit that comes with dating or trying to find someone.  It’s exhausting.”

 

“Absolutely.  Down with love,” Mack says, raising his glass in the air in a toast.  She laughs, clinks her glass with his, and feels… settled.  She hasn’t eaten all day, and that’s a problem.  Because, her belly is warm with expensive bourbon that is making her head feel lighter and her body feel tingly.  And good whiskey always has her losing control of her mouth.

 

“Were you coming on to me that day we met?” She asks, looking at him amused.  “When this alleged Andrea was laying in your bed, were you _flirting_ with me?”

 

He turns red, and it’s a bit adorable.  “Not at first, no,” he says, and she can’t tell whether it’s a lie.  “I just wanted to know my new neighbor.  But then talking to you was just natural, you know?  And you were so…. You’ll probably punch me for saying this.  So _adorable,_ I forgot my head for a second.  I really liked you.  Just a few moments talking and I felt more myself than I had in almost a year, if you’ll believe it.”

 

“You know how it looked when she came out to join us,” Roni reminds him, “It looked like you were a man who just got his dinner already planning his next meal.”

 

He winces.  “I worried you might have thought that,” he admits, scratching the back of his head, “the reality was I had a terrible drunken night and a lovely, caring woman made my morning.  You made me forget that I was a miserable ass.  Of course, Andrea reminded me….” he shudders.  “ _that_ wasn’t a moment I like to repeat.”

 

“Mmm,” Roni hums, unable to keep from smiling, because everything is just so _funny_ all the sudden, “not your finest moment.  It’s a shame,” her half smile turns into a full grown grin, “I thought you were pretty cute too, for a moment.  Until she walked in and shattered the fantasy.”

 

Mac puts his head in his his hands and groans into his lap.  He looks so adorable like this, all stripped of his false confidence and delightfully vulnerable.  “And now I regret that night even more,” he sighs, “you know I’ve been into you since the moment i laid eyes on you, don’t you?  And you’ve hated me, but I—“

 

“I don’t _hate_ you,” Roni corrects, “you _annoy_ me.  You’re always around, everywhere I go, reminding me how funny you are and good look and nice you smell…”

she trails off, realizing how it sounds. She can feel herself blushing, and god _that_ is even more humiliating, no, no…  she tries to own it, putting on a look that is almost _too_ nonchalant adding, “and all those qualities are such a waste on you.  Because you’re a horrible flirt and you have a terrible sense of humor.  So i’m afraid I can only imagine what that nice body and cute dimples would look like on a man that— _mm_!”

 

He crashes his lips into her, and it’s welcome, and warm and so shockingly familiar.  They become tangled in one another, kissing frantically, chasing some feeling, an understanding that is just out of their grasp.

 

She rips herself from him when she needs air, panting and sweating and feeling absolutely pathetic (her hand holds a fistful of his ass, when the hell did _that_ happen?

 

She just looks at him, at how he’s just affected as she is, and then he moves back infinitesimally and asks, “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me, I—”

 

He needs to shut up, so she silences him in a way that she finds rather pleasant. This second kiss is all hers to give, all fire and passion as she fists at his shirt and pulls him towards her.

 

She doesn’t do love (not anymore, she is toxic and burns everything she touches) but she can do _this,_ she can have surprisingly intimate kisses with the man she realizes she never actually hated, with the man she’s been quietly pining for since the moment they met.

 

This is different.  It’s not like the random nights with strangers she’s been known to partake in, this is _real,_ this has _feeling,_ and she has no idea why but she finds she doesn’t want to give it up anytime soon.

 

They can have this for now (for many times to come, it feels too good to be the only time).  

 

She can forget all the reasons that she doesn’t partake in _this_ with men she cares about, can worry about his life later.  Right now she just needs him.

 

Right now it is just _them._


End file.
